


DUTIES

by rubyelf



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 00:17:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2487467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyelf/pseuds/rubyelf





	DUTIES

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynndyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/gifts).



Aragorn slipped into the study and closed the door behind him, noting that the small fire burning in the hearth was hardly enough to provide much heat against the sharp autumn chill. A lamp glowed on the massive wooden desk piled high with papers, and between the stacks, Aragorn could see a head resting on a pair of crossed arms. 

“Faramir,” he said quietly. 

The man stirred sleepily, but then scrambled to his feet, wide-eyed and embarrassed. 

“My Lord! I’m sorry… I should not have been…”

“Sit down, Faramir,” Aragorn said, motioning to the sofa by the fireplace. “And throw a few more logs on that fire… it’s almost as cold in here as it is outside.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Faramir murmured, hastening to comply. Aragorn watched him as he hurried to gather the logs, carefully arranging them over the coals. “I would not have you be cold.”

“I asked you more than once not to call me that.”

“I’m sorry… sir. I can’t…”

“Can’t call me Aragorn?” he asked, as he settled down on the sofa and motioned for Faramir to join him. 

“I should finish…”

“Please sit down.”

“Yes, sir.”

He sat, shifting uneasily on the edge of the seat and staring into the fire. 

“Boromir told me your father never allowed you two enough wood to keep your chambers warm in the winter,” Aragorn said. 

Faramir glanced at him, startled. “Father didn’t like waste. He said we should learn to endure and to suffer…”

He fell abruptly silent and looked away. 

“There has been enough suffering in Gondor,” Aragorn said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Enough for everyone, including you. I insist that you keep your rooms properly warm from now on. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I would prefer Aragorn, you know.”

Faramir looked at his hands. “I can’t… you are the King. The…”

“My name is Aragorn. Or Elessar, if you must, although the name still sounds strange. I have had many names…”

“I read of your deeds as Thorongil, under my grandfather’s rule,” Faramir said quietly. “Boromir and I were raised on stories of your leadership, your wisdom…”

“Well, you’ll have to decide what to call me, and ‘sir’ or ‘my Lord’ are off the table,” Aragorn said, slapping his shoulder. “You are my Steward, not my servant.”

“I thought the Steward’s proper purpose was to be the King’s servant,” Faramir said, uncertain. 

“Not this King. I have more servants than I know what to do with.”

“Then… what do you need of me, my… Elessar?”

Aragorn shrugged and stretched out one foot to kick a log back into the fire. “I have been away from Gondor a long time. I am still a stranger to it. You… you are its heart, much beloved by its people. You know every inch of it, everything the people need and want, everything they fear, every strength and weakness. I need all of that from you. I need you to help me rule this kingdom.”

Faramir sighed. “You needed my brother.”

“Your brother was a warrior,” Aragorn said. “The war has ended. There is much to be done. I need you. Gandalf didn’t choose you on a whim… it was his hope that one day I would be on this throne and that you would be at my side, even if your brother had become the Steward.”

“Then Gandalf put too much faith in me,” Faramir murmured. “I have nothing to give you.”

“You do. And you will. You know your duty, even if you doubt yourself,” Aragorn said, standing up. “I leave tomorrow to survey the towns to the south and take stock of their preparations for winter. I will leave a list of tasks for you to accomplish before I return.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not the least of which is to stop calling me ‘sir’, young Faramir.”

“Yes… I mean… of course.”

 

 

Faramir tested the names in his head many times over the following days. Elessar. Aragorn. He knew the royal name was still an awkward fit on the King’s shoulders; he had watched the way the man’s stance changed from easy to stiff and regal when it was used. There were a few who still called him by other names, and Faramir had seen how those familiar names brought back a different man, whether it was the hobbits still fondly calling him Strider, or the dwarf and the elf from the quest calling him Aragorn, or even his wife quietly addressing him in private moments as Estel. 

The list of tasks Aragorn had left for him seemed impossible, but as he set to work, determined not to fail his King, he found that they went more smoothly than he had expected. The troops seemed to hail him as a hero, and their captains quickly complied with his requests for supply lists and other information. Aragorn’s advisors, rather than being offended by the questions of a young and inexperienced Steward, seemed quite willing to bring him the maps and documents he requested and to review the information with him, offering their expertise in specific areas. The announcements he composed and posted around the city explaining the distribution of winter provisions raised no outcry, even though there was little enough to distribute. If anyone blamed him for Boromir’s absence or wished for him to be in Faramir’s place, none of them revealed it, even to Faramir’s alert eyes.   
Still, he was greatly relieved to hear the gate guard’s announcement that the King and his traveling party had been spotted approaching the city. The days had been cold and the nights even colder, and it would be after dusk by the time Aragorn finally arrived at his rooms, so Faramir hurried to find a few maids and kitchen staff to help him lay out fresh bedding and clothes, heat water for a bath, and prepare an evening meal to await him. He wasn’t sure where Arwen was or why she hadn’t given the orders herself, but perhaps she was occupied elsewhere and didn’t realize her husband had returned. 

He was in his office, working on the next day’s letters, when Aragorn stepped in, dressed in the comfortable clothes Faramir had asked the maids to put out for him. 

“Good evening, young Faramir. And thank you for the hospitality.”

Faramir lowered his head. “I merely asked the staff to prepare…”

“I know. But at the end of a long day, it’s much appreciated.”

“I hope I didn’t… I know Arwen could have…”

Aragorn smiled. “I asked her to let you see to it.”

“You… why?”

The older man shrugged and sat down by the fire, stretching his legs toward the warmth. 

“Just because.”

Faramir nodded slowly, feeling his throat tighten. “If you wish to test whether I’m willing to serve you, my Lord, you may test it in any way you see fit.”

Aragorn glanced over at him. “Don’t be silly. I wasn’t testing your loyalty, Faramir. I never doubted it.”

“Then…”

“I thought that since you’re so dedicated to serving me but hold yourself at such a distance, perhaps tasks like those might help you think of me as a man… not a king, but a man who wants a warm hearth and dry boots at the end of a long ride, like any other man.”

He motioned for Faramir to join him. He rose from his desk slowly. 

“While you’re on your feet, why don’t you grab that bottle of wine on the shelf?”

Faramir took the bottle and two cups from the shelf and sat down. 

“Was this what you wanted, my… I’m sorry. Aragorn. I’ve been practicing it in my head… calling you that…”

Aragorn chuckled and pulled a knife from his belt, absently prying the cork out of the bottle. “I’m glad, although I’m sorry it’s causing you such difficulty.”

“It feels… disrespectful.”

“Just the opposite,” Aragorn said, grinning as the cork popped free. “Anyone can call me by my title. Not just anyone can call me by my name… names. Not anymore. It feels good to hear.”

“The Queen calls you Estel,” Faramir said, accepting his cup of wine. 

“I know. I rather wish she wouldn’t. It makes me feel like I’m a child again. And it reminds me how much older she is than I am, which does give her a significant advantage during arguments.”

“You argue?” Faramir asked, surprised, and then turned red at the impertinence of his question. 

“Of course we do. Don’t look so embarrassed. You and I will argue one day…”

“My duty isn’t to argue with you.”

“Fine. Then you and I will politely disagree, and you will make sure that I know you think I’m being an idiot, even if you won’t tell me so.”

Faramir tried not to smile. “I’m sure you are never an idiot.”

“You really must stop that, Faramir. Of course I’m an idiot occasionally. We all are. Even Gandalf has his moments of stupidity, although he’s good at making them look like he did it on purpose.”

Faramir snorted and failed to hide his grin. “I had noticed that.”

“Well, if the White Wizard can make mistakes, I can too,” Aragorn said. “However, I would have the kingdom be protected from my occasional poor decisions… and that, young Faramir, is why it’s so important that you understand that I am human, that I do fail, and that there will be times when I will need your voice to remind me of it.”

Faramir nodded slowly. “I… hope I will know when those times are.”

“You will. Your heart is with Gondor, and the people know it. If I make a step that puts them at risk or makes them unhappy, even unknowingly, you will see it, and you will stop it.”  
“I serve my King…”

“And the best way to serve your King is to serve his people,” Aragorn said. “As you always have. As you always will.”

“Yes, my Lord… Aragorn.”

The older man smiled and held up his cup. “Keep practicing. You’ll get used to it.”


End file.
